


silence speaks louder than words

by Esmenet



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:32:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esmenet/pseuds/Esmenet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Taki's year of silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	silence speaks louder than words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperwar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperwar/gifts).



When she was young, Taki's thoughts were always a jumble of colours/feelings/sounds/impressions; for a long time, the only way to get them in words was to say them out loud, stuffing reds and yellows and the taste of apples, the sound of rustling leaves, the tugging of wind at her jacket, and that _feeling_ you get when the weather's been getting steadily cooler for a while and then you walk outside one day and suddenly things are warm and alive again and you hadn't noticed before that they weren't, all that down into 秋. And then doing that again and again, every word.

She did like things to be in words; words pin things down and stretch them into definite shapes, make concepts and ideas into solid objects you can set on paper or hold in your mouth. Words add something by themselves, as well, both in sound and in shape. 紅葉 takes up the wrong space in the air for what it is; she feels it should have a た somewhere in there, and maybe some sort of お sound. But pronunciations that don't feel right are really just handles, things to let you hold words at a different angle in your head, and in a sort of sideways way she likes that as well.

She liked the sound of her own voice, too; she still does, sweet and a little rough around the edges. But things are a little more complicated these days. It feels as though she has taken a vow of silence. She hasn't, of course, but there are times now and then when she wants to sit down and sketch everything out with words, paint a clear picture in the air for her mind to follow, and she doesn't. Too many names. Most of the time now she doesn't talk at all.

Sometimes she thinks about reciting the names of thirteen people she doesn't like, every night, as a failsafe. One day she finds the names of thirteen criminals, murderers and torturers all; she writes them down together and reads them all out in a rush, and shakes for a long time afterwards.

No. She can't do that. She's _not going_ to do that.

(And besides, would it even work?)

She draws more circles instead, listening to the rustling leaves. Was that 'thud' sound made by an ayakashi? That extra-loud rustle? It makes her jumpy. If she can only see them in the circles, she probably can't hear them outside either, but that might be worse. She could be surrounded by copies of that youkai and never know. (The day she thinks of that, she hurries back to town and hides away in the school library until she can think about something else.)

Slowly, the silence grows around her. Taki was never very close to her classmates, preferring to keep to herself, but now it's like there is a wall between them. She concentrates on her notes and the teachers. It's safer, maybe.

One day she calls "Yamamoto-kun, look out!" and feels worse than if she had let him get hit by the baseball. _Someone is going to die because of me,_ she thinks. Actually, not just someone. Lots of someones.

More circles. Never enough. Nine months left, now.

It's like a plant or a snake or something, the quiet, twining around and up to fill all the gaps around her. She didn't know how much time and space talking took, until she stopped. The hours stretch out like lazy cats, making enough room for her to do everything she needs. Homework, housework, circles, sleep. She used to panic and finish all her homework the night before it was due, and she used to forget about things like dusting and vacuuming and laundry, and now she can't think how that would happen. In the long term she knows there isn't enough time; in the short term, she has almost too much.

Inside the silence, there is music. Dead leaves skitter along the road, sounding like rain, and birds twitter in the trees. The cicadas are loud, even at this time of year, because it's stayed warm so late. She scuffs her shoes along the ground for a while, for a change of sound, but not for too long. Some distance away there's a cat or a fox or something, making a little bit of noise when it steps onto dead grass. Farther away, someone is talking quietly and walking along by themselves, the way she used to.

She takes a deep breath and breathes it out slowly, the brush of air against her throat and nose sounding like the wind.

"It's nice out today," Taki says to herself, and is a little surprised to hear her own voice. "Very nice." She has gone right through jumpy by now, she thinks, and come out the other side calm and sure. "After I've drawn twenty circles" each careful but fast, a lot faster than she used to be "I'll go buy one of those big sugary muffins and eat it all at once, and then get some juice and go check the circles I can't see from here. And then I'll go home and look through grandfa—those books again, and if I can't find anything I'll do my homework and make plans from there."She closes her eyes halfway through the last sentence and just listens to herself speak. Her voice is a little more jagged around the edges than she remembers it being, maybe because she's spent so much time focused on not talking she hasn't been thinking about how she does talk.

Five months left.

She talks to herself again, nowhere near as much as she used to, but enough. Never about people, not even characters in books and movies. It's surprising how many other things there are to talk about; weather, food, numbers, colours and sounds and textures of things. Sometimes she feels like she's living in an over-enhanced movie, colors a little too bright and sounds a little too loud. It's beautiful (and kind of unnerving).

Three.

If that ayakashi was joking, she's going to feel ridiculous. So much worry and effort over nothing. But every time she goes over it again, she can't be sure. It's better to feel a bit silly than let thirteen people—well, fourteen—die without doing anything.

Two months left, and then one, and then it's a matter of weeks and days.

"Natsume-kun?" Taki says without thinking, and then swears at herself. Not much time left. If she loses . . . "I'll definitely win," she tells him. "I absolutely have to win." And of course he has no idea what she's talking about, but what really matter is that she has said it.

Some distance away, she listens to the world as her heart-rate slows. "I am going to win," she says again, calm and steady.

The clouds in the sky are starting to clump together; maybe it will rain later. But right now, she has circles to draw.


End file.
